The Secret Avatars
by Owl344
Summary: Harry's life is never normal-but this year, his life is even less normal. When four gods take an interest in his and his friends' life, what can he do but live? Post OotP. Pairings Harry-Ginny, Ron-Hermione, and others to be determined.  ABANDONED!
1. Prologue

On a street somewhere in Surrey, there was a house. It was a perfectly ordinary house. Nothing unusual about it.

Inside, however, it was a different story.

Harry Potter, age 15, was about as far from normal as it is possible to get. He _looked_ ordinary enough. Maybe he was a bit scrawny, and there was that matter of the scar on his forehead…but there are naturally skinny people, and everyone has scars.

Looks can be deceiving.

It's not that Harry Potter was a wizard. It's not just that he was a famous wizard (the "Boy-Who-Lived"). It's not the fact that he had faced Lord Voldemort, the most terrible dark wizard of the age, _and survived _no less than 5 times. These things are all part of it, true, but there's something else, something that will make him even less ordinary.

Poor Harry.

In a place that is both here and not here, a tall woman dressed in simple clothes bent over a large, flat bowl and smiled. A hand tapped her shoulders and she straightened. She turned around and raised her eyebrows. "He is as much mine as he is yours, Daughter," said a tall man with a beard and eyes that seemed to both love and condemn you. "I know, Father." She sighed. "He will have a difficult life. I pity him." 

_"We do what we can, Daughter, we do what we can. And what we can do is considerable."_

_She smiled wryly. "True, but it makes me feel no better. We are not human, but we feel human emotions. If I were Brother, I'd say it 'wasn't fair'."_

_"And if I were Mother, I'd tell you, lovingly and gently, that 'life isn't fair'. But we're not, so let's leave that to them, shall we? Come, Daughter, we have work to do."_


	2. Strange Dreams and Letters

A/N: Thanks to everyone who put me on Alert, and special thanks to Nibble-Ett, because you reviewed!

Strange Dreams and Letters 

Harry Potter had strange dreams that night.

He dreamt of himself, chasing the snitch. It was a Gryffindor match and the score was 10-80 Gryffindor—if he caught the snitch, they'd win the Cup! Then the stadium vanished, and Death Eaters were shouting curses at him. He dodged them all frantically, not letting even one hit him.

He dreamt of Ginny in the Hog's Head, meeting with the people who were to become the DA. They were getting rowdy and she mimicked Umbridge so well that heads turned to see where Umbridge was. And then there was a flash of black and the scene changed, with Ginny crying over the body of one of her brothers, though he wasn't sure which one.

He dreamt of Ron, lying in his favourite armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room, the one closest to the fireplace, sleeping. On the other side of the window, snow fell, but inside it was comfortably warm. For some reason, Ron was curled up next to Harry's invisibility cloak.

He dreamt of Neville, tending plants in his greenhouse. He was nurturing a Fanged Geranium, which, miraculously, was not snapping at him. He left it, and went to prune some—_it must have been a Flitterbloom_, Harry thought, _there was no way_ _a Devil's Snare would act so calmly_.

He dreamt of Hermione, avidly studying her Transfiguration book. She frowned over a spell. "That doesn't make sense," she muttered to herself. If Ridcully's Law of Tit-for-tat holds true, then…no, wait, this one's an exception, I remember now." She turned around and began explaining it to Ron and Harry, who had been waiting for her to finish examining the spell.

He dreamt of Luna, skating alone on a huge arena. She was dancing, really, swirling and twirling and leaping and coming down without falling… And then there were people in the arena, and she was laughing at a joke made by an odd creature that had a crumpled horn.

He dreamt of four people in a circle. The one furthest from him was a man, tall, with long dark black hair, and an air of judgement about him. He looked like someone who made difficult decisions every day. The one next to the man on the right was a woman, also tall, and also with dark hair, though it was only dark brown, not black. She looked cold, and she looked alone. Not lonely, but as someone who chose to be alone would look. Beside her, and closest to Harry, was another man, this one with hair of average length but of an orange brighter than he had ever seen, even on the Weasleys. He looked like someone who felt things strongly, but also like someone who did not always understand these feelings. The last one, a woman, reminded him strongly of Mrs. Weasley. She had a strong maternal air about her, an air that somehow screamed both comforting love and strict rules.

The second woman turned to him. "Hello, Harry," she said in a voice as soft as his bed at Hogwarts. "It's not time, not yet, but it will be soon. Don't worry."

And that was the last dream of the night.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak 

When Harry awoke the next morning, the dreams had almost completely vanished, leaving only a few, faint intangible traces in his mind.

He laid there, head on his pillow, as he had every day for the past two months, not wanting to get up, not wanting to do anything with Sirius dead. _If he's dead,_ he thought miserably, _then why shouldn't I join him? What have I got to live for anyway? Look at my room. It's awful. And the people who might care about me are away, far away. Just let me die…_

But today, something was different. Normally, he would have continued this pattern of thought until there wasn't a force on Earth that could have moved him from his bed, not even for food. Today, however, a little voice in the back of his head was telling him not to be so foolish. _You made a mistake,_ said the voice. _So what? _

_So my godfather __**died**_He thought back furiously. _So my friends were hurt!_

_Yes,_ replied the voice, _they were. But they were hurt because they came. And they came because they _care _about you. And if that's not proof enough, why not open your letters? There's sure to be something there for you._

_I'd rather they didn't care, _he thought. _If they don't care, then they won't come with me next time I do something dangerous._

_Utter nonsense. _The voice sounded unconvinced. _You've been moping about them not caring about you for a long time. Read the letters, if you don't believe your own good sense._

With a groan, Harry sat up and did as he was told.

The letters had been waiting for him for a while, always piling up, but until now, he hadn't had the energy to read them.

The first one he picked up was from Ron. Opening it, he read

_Harry, mate,_

_You do know what happened wasn't your fault? Hermione says I'm not supposed to talk about it, but what does she know?_

_I've got good news. There won't be any permanent effects for any of us! Even me. The healers said that the brains wouldn't affect me in any way, except for a little scar. I was disappointed. I thought maybe they'd make me smarter. Oh, well._

_Hermione's still writing Krum! You've got to stop her. He's from Durmstrang! They teach Dark Arts there! She doesn't know what she's doing, but she won't listen to me. Maybe she'll listen to you._

_THE CHUDLEY CANONS WON A GAME!!!! It was against the Ballycastle Bats. It's the first time that's happened in 59 years! Can you believe it? They might be in running for the cup!_

_Anyway, see you soon, Harry. Mum's got permission to get you from the Dursleys'—but you have to stay there 'till your birthday. We'll pick you up on the 1__st__ of August, if you want us too. Send us an owl saying yes!_

_--Ron_

Harry was struck with joy. Leave? Yes, of course he wanted to. He looked at the calendar. What day was it? If today was Friday, then…today was his birthday! Grabbing his quill, parchment and inkwell, he scribbled down a quick response.

Ron— 

_Of course I want to come! Anything to escape this place. Thank you! _

_As to Hermione—you could say she's spying for us just as justly as you could say she's fraternizing with the enemy. If it's any comfort, she only likes Krum as a _friend_. And that, I'm sure of._

_I can't believe the Canons won a game—that's great, mate! Maybe they will win the Cup. See you tomorrow!_

_--Harry _

Harry smiled. Just reading the letter had made him feel better, and writing back had helped a lot, too. He'd better start packing—but no, if he'd answered Ron, then he really should answer the other letters, too.

The next one was from Hermione. It read:

_Dear Harry, _

_How are you? I hope you're well. It's been a while since I've heard from you. Are you doing okay?_

_You'll never guess what Ron's doing! He's upset with me for writing Krum! For Merlin's sake, it's not as if Krum's a Death Eater. What is _wrong_ with him?_

_What happened to Sirius wasn't your fault, Harry. You do know that, don't you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

He smiled again—and this time, it was a grin. He suspected that Hermione knew _exactly_ what was wrong with Ron—and he suspected that she felt the same way. _Good for them, _he thought, grabbing a new piece of parchment, _they need to get together. It's been obvious since fourth year—so obvious, I'm surprised Ron can't see it. Then again, maybe he can. You never know with Ron._

He took up his quill and began to write.

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's good to hear from you! I'm sorry I haven't written in a while—I've been thinking. Yes, I'm doing fine._

_Don't be too hard on Ron—he likes you, and he's jealous, though I don't know if he's realized it himself yet. But there can't be any harm in keeping up your letters with Krum—the more allies, the better, right?_

_I'm not sure that I do._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

He put Hermione's letter in a place where it could dry and picked up the next letter. It was from Neville.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! I'm glad that no one was hurt permanently in the battle. Don't think that anything is your fault—we _chose_ to come, so if it's anyone's fault, it's ours. _

_I'm sorry that Sirius Black died. I asked Hermione about it, and she told me about him. I can't believe that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew! Why hasn't the Ministry revoked his Order of Merlin now that you've been proven right about Voldemort? They're idiots. _

_Guess what? I got a bit of Flitterbloom for my birthday! It's very pretty._

_I hope you're doing good, Harry._

_Sincerely,_

_Neville_

Neville's combination of basic good earthiness and of temper on Harry's behalf made Harry smile. He pondered how far Neville had come since the beginning of Fifth Year. Neville, once shy and unconfident, was now a somewhat less shy and unconfident young man. He glanced down at the letter and frowned again. Why _hadn't_ the ministry revoked Wormtail's Order of Merlin? He'd have to talk to Dumbledore about it, if he got the chance.

Another glance reminded him that he wasn't the only one with his birthday at the end of July.

_'Born as the seventh month dies…'_ whispered a memory.

_No,_ he thought. _Not today. It's turning into a nice day, and I haven't had one since Sirius…no, Harry, don't think of it now._

Doing his best to ignore these depressing thoughts, he picked up his quill once more and replied to Neville.

_Dear Neville,_

_Happy Birthday to you too! It's good to hear from you. I'm glad you've got an interesting plant—I hope it brings you happiness._

_I'm not sure why they haven't revoked Wormtail's (Pettigrew's) Order of Merlin, but I plan to do something about it! Thanks for pointing it out._

_Don't be silly—it's not in any way your fault._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

He deposited his quill and parchment on his desk, then looked at the time. He was surprised to see that it was already 3 PM! _Then again,_ thought Harry, _I've been staying in bed as late as possible. And I've been working at the letters for a while. It just seems that time wants to move as quickly as possible…_

He picked up the next letter and found that it was from Luna. He raised his eyebrows. It wasn't that he didn't like Luna, he did, but he hadn't expected a letter from her. _On the other hand, she _was _there at the Department of Mysteries. Why shouldn't I get a letter from her?_

He opened the letter and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm glad that you're okay. Do not blame yourself for Stubby Boardman's death; there was nothing you could have done to stop it. _

_I also wish to thank you for being my friend. I have also thanked Ronald, Hermione, Neville and Ginny._

_I went Crumple-Horned Snorkack hunting. We didn't catch any, but we found tracks and are hoping to go again next summer._

_Goodbye, Harry,_

_--Luna_

Harry smiled slightly wryly. Luna's odd style of writing always made him feel like he was missing something, but it was good to hear from her, and it brought back her advice from the end of last year.

_Dear Luna,_

_I'm glad that you're okay too. _

_You don't need to thank people for being your friend, Luna; we like you. It's a pleasure and an honour to be your friend._

_It's a shame you didn't catch any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. I'm sure you'll have better luck next summer._

_Best Wishes,_

_Harry_

Harry turned to his letter pile and realized that there was only one letter left. It was from Ginny. For some reason, this made him feel slightly nervous.

He opened the letter and read:

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm not going to ask how you're doing, because I know that you'd only reply that you're "fine". I don't know why you bother; anyone who knows you knows that you'd say you were "fine" if you had a dagger in your heart and a basilisk fang in your leg._

_Harry. Listen to me, because this is quite important—_you are not responsible for Sirius' death or our injuries. _Got it? Never mind, I know that you don't. Think, for a moment—you would risk death for any of us. What's to stop us from doing the same for you? And in case you've forgotten, you _tried_ to leave us behind and _we wouldn't let you. _Doesn't that tell you anything? If it doesn't, it should._

_As for Sirius—he was his own man. You couldn't control him; the only one who had _any _chance of that was Professor Dumbledore. He was responsible for his own actions. He loved you, and so he came to save you: if he was in trouble, even for some really stupid reason, and you went and saved him and died doing it, would you want him to die? If you do, then you're wasting his sacrifice. Think on that._

_On another note, I want to thank you for the DA. It was a good organisation, and you were a good leader. Maybe you'd consider doing it again? I know that Luna and Neville would like it, and many others, too._

_Happy, Birthday, Harry! Don't think we've forgotten your presents—we're going to give them to you when you arrive._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

Harry's first reaction as he read the letter was to be angry at Ginny, but as he read on, his anger lessened, then dissipated completely. She was right, in one thing if in nothing else: to die would to be to waste Sirius' sacrifice, and he wasn't going to do that. Even so, he still wasn't convinced that it wasn't his fault that Sirius had died.

He scribbled down a reply of four words and gave it to Hedwig along with the other letters. "These are for my friends," he told her. "I don't know about Neville and Luna, but Ron, Hermione and Ginny should all be at the same place." Hedwig hooted comfortingly then flew through the window Harry had opened for her.

He watched her fly away until he couldn't see her anymore, then closed the window. Checking the clock, he saw that it was now 8:00—he'd spent much longer on those letters than he'd thought.

It wasn't precisely late, but Harry was tired, and he was leaving tomorrow. He glanced down at the floor, wondering if he should pack, then looked up at his bed, which suddenly seemed more inviting then it had before. _I'll pack tomorrow,_ he decided, and climbed into his bed. It seemed to Harry that the moment his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep—a huge contrast to the nights before, when he'd stay up 'till after midnight thinking about Sirius.

For the first time in two months, Harry James Potter sported a smile on his face as he dropped off to sleep.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

_A tall man dressed in very bright clothing shook his head. "It won't do," he said. "There's definitely been progress, especially with young Ginevra's letter, but he needs to believe that it wasn't his fault before we can unlock him. I need to talk to him."_

_A woman who looked a lot like a mother shook her head firmly. "That's impossible, and you know it, Son; it might hurt him, being brought here too soon._

_The man blew his orange hair off his eyes. "I'm not going to let him keep the memory, Mother," he said with obvious patience. "Just the knowledge. Besides, it would hurt him more if we weren't able to unlock him, and you know it."_

_She sighed. "That's true enough. All right, you have my permission. It does appear that it's the only way to get things done."_

A/N: I hope that's long enough, Nibble-Ett! It's almost 9 times as long, word-wise.


	3. Be Free From Guilt

**Disclaimer: Despite my best efforts, I don't own Harry Potter and never will. Everything un-canonical is mine, unless otherwise specified.**

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who put me on Alert! Also, another special thanks to Nibble-Ett, because you reviewed again!

**Be Free From Guilt**

Outside Number 4 Privet Drive, a storm raged. The winds howled and blew like living things in torment. The windows rattled in their panes. The rain came crashing down like anchors in the sea. It was a stormy night for the first time in a long while.

Inside the house, even while the wind howled and the windows rattled, a young man slept peacefully for the first time in a long while. He did not dream of his godfather's death, as he had for so long, but of something else instead. He dreamt, in fact, of this…

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak 

Harry Potter woke up in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar person sitting next to his bed.

Or was she unfamiliar? She reminded him of something, though he was fairly sure that he hadn't seen her before. It was difficult to tell without his glasses. At any rate, he trusted her. He didn't know why, but he did.

A voice woke him from his thoughts. "There you are, dear," it said, while the owner of the voice put his glasses on his face.

The woman's face swam into focus, and he looked at her, trying to place what had jogged his memory. She reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, but somehow he got the feeling that that wasn't quite what he was remembering.

"Hello," said Harry. "Err…If you don't mind my asking, where am I?"

"You're safe, don't worry," replied the woman.

_Which was,_ thought Harry, _very nice to know, and also not at all an answer to my question._

"Don't worry, dear, you're not anywhere dangerous," repeated the woman. "My Son wishes to speak to you, and he could not do it from where you were. Not properly, anyways." There was a knock on the door.

"Ah, that'll be him," said the woman. "Come in," she called.

A tall man with insanely bright red hair walked into the room. "Hello, Harry," he said gently.

"Harry, this is Son. I'll be leaving you two to talk," added the woman.

"Wait!" called out Harry. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled at him. "I'm the Mother," she answered. "Goodbye, Harry. I'll see you again, don't worry." She left the room.

Harry looked at the Son, who smiled at Harry.

"I'd like to talk to you. But I suppose I should ask you if you have any questions."

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I do. What did you do to me?"

The Son raised an eyebrow. "Do to you?"

"Yes. I should have panicked when I got here. You could have been Death Eaters, for all I know—not that I think you are," he added hastily. "But I'm not even panicking now that I've worked out that you did something to stop me panicking, if that makes sense."

The Son nodded. "It does. As for what we did to you, we simply stopped you from panicking." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he added, "I realize that's not very helpful, but it's the best I can do."

Harry sighed. "I've got other questions, but they can wait. What do you want to talk about?"

The Son looked slightly unsure of himself, but said, "I wish to talk to you about Sirius' death."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. To himself, he added, _And why am I not surprised he knows about that?_

"You are still convinced it was your fault. Even here, in a place that dampens emotions, you still feel that guilt. _It was not your fault._ It is as your friend Ginny said: Sirius Black was his own man, and quite capable of making his own decisions."

Harry realized that the Son was right—despite the fact that he hadn't felt any intense emotion since coming here (and that was odd enough), not even the pain he usually felt when Sirius' death was mentioned, he still felt extremely guilty about the part he played in his godfather's death.

He shook his head at the Son. "It _is _my fault. If I hadn't messed up, there wouldn't have been a battle, and Sirius wouldn't have died."

The Son, who had been standing by the door, came and sat down on Harry's bed. "So," he requested casually, "tell me how you could have stopped his death."

"I could have remembered that Snape was an Order member. Or I could have remembered about the mirror. I could have tried to do Occlumency harder."

The Son nodded thoughtfully. "So what you're saying," he said, "is that you could have remembered that the teacher you hate the second-most of all and who treats you abominably because of your parents is an order member. And that you could have remembered about something that was given to you secretly at Christmas, despite everything that had happened before and would happen between Christmas and June. And that you could have tried to learn a subject that was being taught to you by the aforementioned teacher in a very stupid way for you?"

Harry nodded reluctantly. When the Son put it like that, it seemed so…trivial.

The Son looked thoughtful. "Well, Harry," he said, "I've got some bad news for you. You're not perfect."

Harry jerked his head up to stare at the Son angrily. "I _know _I'm not!" he half-shouted.

The Son raised an eyebrow. "Harry, it sounds to me like you're berating yourself for making some very easy mistakes. That seems to me to imply that you think that you should be perfect. You're _human_. Humans make mistakes. It's natural. If you didn't, how would you learn?"

Harry shook his head stubbornly. The Son, seeing that he was not getting through to Harry, sighed. "Harry," he said tentatively, "I need to show you something. Just close you eyes and lie down."

Harry did so, and the Son made a motion with his hand over Harry's body. Suddenly his saw something, a vision of a might-have-been.

_Sirius was being tortured by Voldemort. He screamed, his back bucking like he was being electrocuted. Suddenly, the door burst open and Harry stormed in. "Leave him alone, Tom," he said in a voice like cold steel. _

_"Oh yes?" said Voldemort. "And how exactly do you plan to stop me?"_

_"Like this," said Harry, and he tossed an old muddy boot at Sirius. It landed, and Sirius was suddenly back in Grimmauld place._

_A few hours later, the news came. Harry was dead. "No," breathed Sirius, slumping over his dinner, "no. It's all my fault."_

_He was careful to keep away from people for the next few hours. It wasn't too hard; everyone was wrapped in their own grief. At the end of the evening, he hid in his room and plunged a dagger into his heart. His last words were "Harry…forgive me."_

The vision was over. Harry looked up at the Son in horror. Even here, he felt the horror. "What was that?" he practically hissed.

"That," replied the Son, "was something that might have been. Sirius committing suicide because he thought it was his fault you were dead."

"_What?_ But that's _stupid._ It wasn't his fault!"

"No?" the Son raised an eyebrow. "Sirius was lured there so that Voldemort could capture you. It was a trick. He thought you were being tortured. He checked, but Lucius Malfoy impersonated an Order member. There were other ways to communicate, but he was in such a rush he forgot about them. He never bothered to learn locating spells, so he didn't know where you were. How could it not be his fault?"

"What do you mean, 'how could it not be his fault?'. Voldemort has fooled Dumbledore, so of course he could fool Sirius! And if someone told him I was there, of course he'd rush off! And he just never thought tracking spells were important! It's no more his fault than—"

"It was yours," interrupted the Son gently. "Go back to what you just said and think about how it applies to you."

Harry did so, and once he was finished he nodded reluctantly. "You have a point," he admitted.

The Son smiled at him. "Yes, I do. Now do you believe me when I say it's not your fault?"

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I guess I do."

"_Good,_" said the Son. "I was worried I wasn't getting through there. Any final questions?"

Harry shook his head. After that immense revelation, he didn't think that he'd be able to remember left from right, never mind think up any questions.

"Okay. Now, Harry, I'm going to return you to your bed. You won't remember any of this—you're not ready for it yet—but you will remember that it isn't your fault."

He made a gesture, and Harry fell into darkness as a question occurred to him. _What does he mean, how would _you _learn?_

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

When Harry awoke, he was in bed in Privet Drive, and he wondered why he had the sense that he should be somewhere else. He sat up and suddenly felt that something was…not wrong, exactly, but…lost?

He leaned against the head of his bed and thought. He couldn't remember any dreams, so it wasn't anything he had dreamt. What was it?

He glanced over at the letters he had opened yesterday and found the answer. He was missing his guilt! He didn't know why, but today it was just as obvious that he _wasn't_ responsible for Sirius' death as it had been that he _was _yesterday. He supposed it must have been Ginny's letter—but as convincing as it had been, and as much as he could see the logic in it _now_, he hadn't understood it yesterday.

He shrugged. Did it really matter? He knew that he wasn't to blame now, and he had—at least in part—Ginny to thank. Speaking of Ginny…he glanced at the clock. It was 8:00. The Weasleys weren't here yet, and he hadn't packed. With a sigh, he bent to his work.

TimeBreakTimeBreakTimeBreakTimeBreakTimeBreak

Harry glanced at the clock a second time. It was now 11 o'clock, and though he knew the Weasleys might not be here for a while, he was getting impatient.

At that moment, he heard the doorbell ring. There was the sound of Uncle Vernon opening the door and then roaring.

"Boy!" he shouted, "The freaks are here!"

"Coming, Uncle Vernon," he shouted back.

Grabbing his stuff, Harry ran down the stairs. To his surprise, it wasn't just Ron and Mr. Weasley—the twins and Ginny had come too.

"Hello, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "Hop in," he added, gesturing at the car.

Harry stared. The car, another Ford Anglia, was a bright electric orange.

"Nice, isn't it?" said Ron, beaming. "It's to celebrate the victory of the Chudley Cannons.

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny. "Very nice, Ron," he agreed obligingly.

"Here," said Mr. Weasley, "let me get your stuff in the car." As he spoke, he moved Harry's things from the sidewalk to the trunk. Harry noticed that the car was suspiciously able to hold his things which, while not many, nevertheless should have taken up more space than they had.

He hopped in the car and smiled. As Mr. Weasley got in, he reflected that it was nice to be going to his true family—and, with them, his true home.

A/N: It's not quite as long as the other one, I'm afraid. I'm sorry about the abrupt ending, but I couldn't think of a way to write the car ride. Hope you like it!


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